horror comes back
A huge billboard I live close to says
It advertises Auschwitz
Children stand in line to see it,
Schoolbags are opened,
Laughter of children,
For more than three months
it has been drilling my head.
I go and buy bread,
I go and take the bus,
I didn’t want to visit it.
By mistake when I tried to go to the exhibition next to it
I ran into a crematorium furnace
These are useless babbles
Why should the innocent grieve?
The teacher thinks it’s a great lesson in History.
But those children wouldn’t have let it happen.
None of them cries.
And I also feel undeserving of tears
that don’t belong to me.
It’s a greater torture not being able to scream,
of this exclusive school uniform
somebody may understand that
none of this is comprehensible.
Plaza Castilla is already used to going for a walk
With your stink of guilt pointing at everybody
With your deadly breath.
Until 7 October.
They advertise it like a party.
I conjure a next exhibition that
is actually an occasion for empathy
Because just watching destruction
Feels so empty
If there can’t be a hug
So what are we left with
But becoming unfathomable
In front of some sort of movies
Do you like war films?
Do you want to get out to dinner?
We have a view to the billboard
like those in theme Parks
And it says Auschwitz.
Do you want to cry?
Can you understand that we were this too?
That nothing could be done
That nobody did anything.
Emptiness cradles your babies
in front of your screens.
Would you like it if somebody bought a ticket
to see the remains of your murder?
Are these earnings and this sleeplessness
given to the children of those who survived?
Who arranged the shoes in a still life
What cultural manager thought it’d be a good idea
Who felt their fingers dissolve
Who said they couldn’t take it any longer
I want to preserve their heart under key.
There’s a cleaning lady
in indescribable blue
almost like the sky
who daily mops this eyesore’s halls
Can she cry while doing it?
This museum of horror.
A stand sells hot dogs, grilled corn, churros,
Ducks in the pond right behind.
As if out of those rooms
there was life
making up the shame
the minotaur shut in
the attic monster-child inside of
the bag of eyes
chewing the little princess’ sweet tiny feet.
I can’t be peaceful
I can’t be happy because Auschwitz:
“It was alright, you should see it”
“I’ve written about it for my magazine”
i’ve talked about gathering the pieces
so I could see
what I still don’t feel.
With all my respect to the victims
With all my love and desire for justice
All my hatred and vomit in the executioners
I don’t want that billboard among businessmen,
pilgrimage of those who dream
with the highest towers
like angels of death.
Nobody brought a flower to this grave.
This cemetery you’ve placed here
more than 1,200 miles away
is at the right distance to do so.
I’m poor enough
to know that a name is a painful homeland
and this isn’t mine
and if it was
I wouldn’t want
the slightest trace of guilt
a corpse groped by everyone
a newborn necrophilia
Could you light a candle?
Could you come cry for us
If you’re strong enough
If you’re still able to dance
like grass growing through the pavement.